Resurrection
by Gree
Summary: The story of a vampire lord out to regain his most favored get.
1. Chapter 1

Resurrection

Chapter-One: A (Dead) Storm is brewing.

General Hans Aldrech glared wearily overhead at the sky. The formerly blue sky of Ostermark was covered in thick black clouds that darkened the whole sun, blotting out light. This was one of the examples that the vampire was unleashing on the humans before him. Hans kicked his barded warhorse forward and peered out through the ornate visor of his helmet.

Packs of rotted dire wolves prowled before the undead army, their grimy coats sleek with mud and crimson muscle and bone showing through empty skin. Balefire glowed in their eyes. Behind them where legions of skeletal infantry and shambling zombies. They where silent, not speaking a world, banners flapped darkly in the winds as rusted spearheads formed a forest of iron.

Before them, they carried great drums and horns. What use would the dead have for such instruments? Hans wondered. It seemed to be impractical, but at the same time horrifying to the mortal eye. Legions of undead knights, dark parodies of him and the Knights Panther rode besides the trudging ranks of infantry. Amidst the ranks of black and dark steel armor Hans could see glimpses of a red banner.

Vast corpse carts traveled around the lines, filled with zombies collected from the past battlefields that this army had visited, full of severed torsos and rotting limbs that grasped out for warm flesh. And there Aldrech could spot the outline of the Vampire Count, Mircea Von Carstein, his great wolf fur cloak flapping around him as he stood within the towering forms of his grave guard, their crimson armor gleaming.

Above swarms of fell bats gathered into vast dark clouds, shrieking and occasionally swooping to attack one of the imperials below. Soldiers shuffled in their ranks as flaming arrows answered the flying bat swarms. The ranks of Imperial infantry moved, armor clanking and banners flapping as drums where beat and trumpets sounded. Swords where unsheathed and spears raised as powder prepped and quarrels readied.

He kicked the sides of his steed and rode down the lines, his personal lifeguard of inner circle Knights Panther, a gift from the order due to his long-standing oaths of brotherhood with the Panthers, rode with him. Troops nearby cheered when they saw his form. Hans knew from long experience that morale against the courage-sapping effects of the undead where the most important in battle.

Soldiers from his home city of Carroburg and Middenland readied themselves and their blue-white uniforms. Unlike the rest of the Middenland army they where recruited from the southern parts of Middenland, the areas most affiliated with Reikland and Sigmar. A man raised the standard of the twin-tailed comet and Gunther the warrior priest dropped the head of his enormous gold warhammer to the ground and began to recite a prayer loudly.

Nearby Klaus and Dieter, two magicians from the Colleges of Magic in Altdorf, began to chant spell of protection against the vile necromancy of the Vampire Count and his sorcerers. Stefan, the line officer in charge of his old regiment, gave a proud salute before shouldering his enchanted blade. ''General Aldrech!'' the troops nearby shouted in approval at their commander.

He rode along the line, his bodyguard of chosen knights trailing behind him. ''Men! You face a beast here! An unholy beast of Sigmar's enemies!'' He knew how to make a good speech after all his years of service to Karl Franz. ''This beast thinks he can come to Ostermark and despoil the emperor's lands, he thinks he can kill the Emperor's people after the Storm! Will we let him think he can do so now?'' he shouted.

A massive NO thundered from the battle lines around him. ''And you know what? We'll' go kick the arse of that bloodsucking maggot and I'll let you boys shove a silver stake into his heart and hack his head off with your own knives!'' It was always good to give the troops of machismo and support that made them feel good. Confidence and faith in Sigmar was the greatest weapons that the living could use against the undead.

Across the field Mircea Von Carstein ignored the wind that blew into his hair and looked out. Across the field were legions of imperials, he recognized them as mostly men in the blue and white of Middenland, but there where those of Talabacland and Ostermark as well. He looked around and ran an armored gauntlet over the smooth reflective black wood of the Black Coach at his side. The feral bat of the Von Carsteins seal was emblazoned across its pitch-dark surface.

This was the coffin of Sophia Von Carstein, his youngest and most favored get. Recently she was slain by a silver-tipped arrow from a Vampire Hunter in Ostermark while in a campaign. That slaying had enraged him, the death of his right-hand woman. He had sent his servants to collect her ashes while he rode to extract vengeance for her death; he had put her ashes in one of the mystical Black Coaches and rode out to war with her.

Around him the ranks of his elite grave guard stood at perfect attention, ignoring the wind blowing through their ancient undead bodies as their eyes glowed with a dark balefire out into the living. He looked out and saw an enormous black bat detach itself from the swirling swarms overhead and flap down to the war torn earth below, it's great ebony wings beating strongly.

When the bat got it changed shape into a vampire. The vampire was Luke Von Carstein, his second oldest and one of his most powerful servants and the head of his Hamaya. The vampire brushed his long blonde hair back, having the vanity to maintain a human appearance even on the battlefield. ''Luke'' Micrea muttered lowly to his get. ''My Lord Mircea'' he addressed the vampire lord in courtly tones. ''What news of the imperial battle lines? Do any of your bats report movement?'' he said softly.

''No, milord, this is all that you face'' Luke said, brining his armored hand back to observe the ranks of imperial soldiers. ''We can fight without worrying that there will be reinforcements, the closest imperial is many miles away.'' He said cordially. ''That's good, I don't want to repeat the mistake of Mannfred, having some knightly fool charging me in the flanks isn't going to do me any good at all'' The vampire lord said, resting his hand against his broadsword and toying with a ring in his hand.

''And my lord I did spot a runefang in the hands of their commander'' Mircea looked up in faint surprise. ''Really? I didn't image they would sent such an impressive weapon to a common general'' His black wolf skin cloak spread around him like batwings as he looked out at the standard of the Knights Panther, the leopard-emblazed sigil fluttered over a group of knights in ornate armor and luxurious pelts.

Except one, one in his own coat of arms and blue and white armor with a sword that glowed to his magical senses. ''A runefang indeed, this will be harder then I originally expected.'' He muttered. ''Pah who cares?'' came a new voice. Luke groaned as he put a hand to his forehead as a new figure strode into the ranks. Jan Von Carstein, a blunt-minded brutal killer who was the annoyance and brother to Luke even before they became vampires.

''They're humans! I can rip em apart with my bare hands. What do we care about what a pigsticker can do if the cattle is too damn slow ta swing it!'' boasted the short-haired vampire, dressed in his ornate crimson armor with a cloak of living bats swirling around him. ''It matters you idiot, because that blade killed Konrad and almost killed Mannfred. I wouldn't be so quick to boast about that if I where you, unless you want to die Janny?'' he chuckled as Jan gave him a rude hand gesture.

''Now I'' Jan started but was cut off by Mircea. ''That's enough, Luke return to your command and Jan prepare to give out the surrender terms, they will probably refuse of course, if my judge of this general's character is correct.'' Mircea looked back at the Knights Panther. ''And then we will kill them all, all for Sophia, your dear sister, when you get back Luke say a prayer for Sophia will you? No, wait, we can't say prayer to our dead. That's a price we fofited for being immortal'' remarked the vampire lord sadly.

The brothers blinked and Jan shrugged before running away at unnatural speeds towards the Imperials, grabbing a white flag from a skeleton as he passed them. Luke turned back into a bat and flapped away.

Mircea watched with a kind of detached curiosity as his plans began to be set in motion. He then ran his long elegant fingers over the smooth black lid of Sophia's great black coach.

Hans Aldrech peered through his visor as he saw a lone figure running through the field with a white flag, odd, the undead usually never bothered to negotiate before they attacked. He held an armored hand to Gunther. ''Hold father, we talk and then we fight'' he spoke loudly. ''Of course lord General'' the holy man barely forced out through gritted teeth. Trying to keep his holy rage in check at the sight of the smirking vampire.

The armored vampire with the gruesome cloak of living bats ran towards the lines. Hans trotted out, six of his Knights Panther following out, lances and sword readied in case of treachery. Looking out at the vampire who planted the standard in the ground Hans could see that he was smirking about something. Hans waved an armored hand at the vampire ''Speak now before we kill you beast'' he snarled out he last part, fingering the hilt of the Drakwald runefang.

''I'm Jan Von Carstein, part of the Ostermark murder army! We've been killing and pillaging and all sorts of fun shit when we decided to come by and say hello to some nice lookin' humans!'' he said with a flourish. ''Now me and my sire Mircea has some terms for ya'' He grinned showing of his fangs. ''Serve us in life or we can kill ya and piss on yer corpses before raising ya back as zombies!''

Hans looked angrily at him. ''You must be some kind of idiot to think we would even consider such a proposal'' he drew his runefang and pointed it at Jan threateningly. ''Get out of my sight. The armored vampire grinned. ''Really then? Then we'll hafta kill ya then. I suggest praying to yer impotent god before pissing yourselves, and if you have time ya can do an old-fashioned suicide! In fact I highly recommend it!'' he shouted insanely.

Hans swept the magical blade towards the smiling vampire's skull. Right before the blow connected the vampire leaned back and turned into a crimson mist that floated backwards out of the lance's range. Then the vampire reformed and gave mocking wave, then a rude finger gesture and turned into a swarm of bats that fluttered away into the distance, a few flaming arrows launching uselessly after him.

Hans turned around and shouted for the arrows to stop. ''Your aren't going to harm him at this range'' he glowered and rode back to his lines and the undead started forward. ''Besides we have more pressing concerns.'' Hans remarked sardonically.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two- The curse called blood….

Mircea Von Carstein extended his magical will over the undead horde. As one the mighty undead horde moved, silently and efficiently towards the lines of the living. A steady crunch of armor and feet sounded through the battlefield. On the flanks Luc soaring above in bat form commanded packs of dire wolves to move into the groups of archers and light infantry on the other imperial flanks.

The archers nocked their bows and wound up quarrels, sending swarms of flaming arrows plunging through the sky to bury themselves in the rotten hides of the loping dire wolves. Flames licked dead flesh as they impacted into the wolves. Many of the wolf packs where slain in the first several volleys, the flames covered their corpses. However there where a few that did not catch on fire, they where soon raised again by Luke's necromantic powers.

The wolves bounded across the field, covering the last few stretches between the huntsmen and crossbowmen; they ran into the imperials that drew swords and daggers for the preparation of close combat. Huge wolves tore out the throats of men and tacked others to the ground. Claw and fang rendered flesh as swords and daggers tore into the bodies of the wolves, felling dozens of them.

Skill the feral charge of the undead beasts where too much for the imperial archers to withstand, abandoning their longbows and crossbows they fell back in a panic as the wolves chased them down. On the imperial flanks waited more archers, crossbowmen and handgunners who fired into the remaining dire wolves, the powerful quarrels and bullets this time had more than enough force to put down the charging dire wolves.

Luke extended his will over the swirling bat swarms, slipping his will into their minds and commanding them to attack the humans below. Leathery wings flapped and they fell towards the imperials. The bats bit and tore, flapping among the missile troops and kicking guns and crossbows out of hands as the infantrymen desperately fought off the vast flocks of bloodthirsty bats.

The men who where on Hans's left flank where Tilean mercenaries, veterans of conflicts across the old world. The bat swarms came down and broke apart their tightly ordered formation of pikes. Huge blacks bats tore their wing-claws through the hair and noses of men and bit the flesh of the living. Men fought them off successfully with sword and knives after several dozen mercenaries had fallen to the flocks of bats.

On the collection of windswept farms that comprised Hans's right flank, Mircea marched his horde of Skeletons over the ground towards the imperials on a small rise where Hans had cleverly placed a thin line of halberdiers. The same tactic had been used against Mannfred at Hel Fenn. Leaving a thin line of troops to meet the enemy and then constantly reinforcing them so it appeared as if that the line was about to break, no matter how many soldiers you threw at it. This was the called Forlorn Hope.

Except Mircea was not a fool and had his bats attack from above and on the flanks. The imperial general soon realized that Mircea knew what he was doing and was attempting to isolate the Forlorn Hope and destroy it. So Hans's trumpeters and messengers gave orders for the reserve regiments to join the Forlorn Hope in main force, reinforcing the line with hundreds of swordsmen, spearmen, halberdiers and a unit of Hans's personal great swords, the so called ''Hammer Bearers''.

In total silence the undead lines climbed over the hill, as there was a discharge of smoke. The reserve hand gunners downed most of the front rank of zombies, most of the bullets passed through the empty bones of the skeletons, save for a few lucky headshots. Magic streaked through the air as busts of flame and light devastated the undead ranks from the imperial wizards, a cannon fired its ammunition into the blocks of ghouls and skeletons that charged towards them.

And still they kept on coming as Mircea spoke words of power that resurrected the fallen undead and raised zombies out of the earth. Rotted arms poked out from the dead ground and assembled to charge the cannons. The imperials took the charge of the zombies effortlessly, swords and halberds hacking down the tide of flesh eaters quickly. The troops of Hans Aldrech where experienced fighters who where not troubled by the slow zombies.

Then the main line of undead hit the Middenlanders. The spears and pikes of the skeleton blocks jabbed and impaled the front rankers of Middenlanders as Stefan gave a series of bellowing orders to push back. Mircea and his personal force of grave guard advanced into a group of spearmen, Mircea's great enchanted broadsword cutting down the spear points like cornstalks. The blade itself was an enormous blade encrusted in runes of dark magic, so heavy that a normal man could not hope to lift it.

Yet the vampire lord carried it in one hand easily as he hacked down several spearmen like they where children, the glowing spectral blades of his bodyguard finished of the rest of the unit as they overran the survivors into a group of halberdiers. The twin swords of Jan flickered and butchered their way into the rank of imperials. He let out a feral howl that summoned a flock of huge ebony bats from the sky. Exerting his will over them he sent them swarming the hand gunners.

Dozens of bats set upon each man, savaging him and tearing strips of skin away. Men screamed as they where devoured by a living black cloud of bats. After a few minutes the bats cleared away, leaving only bones and a few stripes of blood-soaked rags. Jan butchered his way through several halberdiers with inhuman speed and grace, each sword stroke opening stomachs to vomit forth steaming intestines and to decapitate heads, sending blood flying in the air.

The vampire stuck out his tongue and licked some of the flying blood as he laughed and continued to butcher himself. Commanding skeletons and ghouls nearby to form up behind him and drive the imperials back. The warrior priest Gunther was in the heart of the battle, his enormous warhammer crushing skulls and pulping torsos. He tore his way into the ghouls with holy fury, slaying the twisted beasts within mercy.

Behind him were the Hammer Bearers, they where a sight to see, their great swords like whirlwinds, chopping through rank after rank of zombies and skeletons in their path like wheat before a scythe. Jan turned and laughed at the sight of the servant of Sigmar covered in black blood and hefting his warhammer. The vampire charged him, tramping newly risen zombies and pushing skeletons out of the way.

The priest shouted a prayer and brought his warhammer back, the powerful weapon smashing against the twin blades of the frenzied vampire. Jan grinned and pushed Gunther back ''A good try!'' he cried out and kicked Gunther in the chest plate. The kick would have torn through the priest's chest if he had not been wearing his plate armor, so it merely broke most of his ribs and sent him flying.

He landed in a newly emerging zombie, crushing its gray form under his weight. He struggled upwards, his warhammer blocking a frenzy of strikes that Jan launched at him, forcing him down. Then a sword savaged his right arm, forcing him to clutch his warhammer with his left as he leapt out of a group of zombies, their gray-green fingers grasping at him through his clothes and pulling out the golden twin-tailed comet medallion on his chest.

Jan gave a howl of victory and pushed the priest of Sigmar back with a set of punishing strikes. The priest cursed and stumbled over a fallen skeleton. That was where he fell to the blade of Jan. The armored vampire's right blade severed the priest's good arm and the other beheaded the priest, sending gouts of crimson blood flying into the air while Jan laughed and caught the head on the tip of one of his swords. ''That's it? What a buzz-kill!'' he laughed insanely.

He raised the impaled head forward and yelled. ''Look! Look ala you bastards! He's dead! And he's not even coming back as a zombie!'' the armored vampire cackled before flicked the head of his sword and plunging into the slaughter once again.

Luke von Carstein peered at the floundering mercenaries as the bat swarms fled back into the murky black sky. He smiled and turned to the group of figures next to him, ''This would be a good idea to attack.'' The vampire spoke. ''I can see that Luke'' said the lead rider, a figure in blood red armor ornately decorated with spiraling crimson dragons and necromantic runes. His enormous black steed snorted and stamped their immense hooves impatiently on the ground.

''Then do so Konrad'', Luke addressed the other vampire who turned his crimson glare at the aristocratic vampire. Konrad Sibrand and his brother knights of the Blood Keep had sworn themselves into the service of Mircea Von Carstein by an ancient debt, a debt that was too old for Luke to remember properly. Konrad looked around and raised his hand and pointed it at the Tileans. He sent a silent command through the ranks of undead Black Knights that where grouped behind him and his brothers.

He kicked off his steed as the massive force of undead cavalry rode behind him towards the Tilean mercenaries. Knights in armor from hundreds of years ago rode alongside the recent dead of imperial knights. Normally, a cavalry charge would have little hope to defeat a massed pike block, especially since the Tileans where carefully drilled and trained to resist the cavalry charges due to their many battles with knights.

However the Tileans where broken and spread out because of prior undead attacks, many where dead and there where gaps in their once perfect formation of pikes. They where vulnerable to a charge as Mircea had planned. The sight of a cavalry charge at full gallop is awe-inspiring in most circumstances, but that of an undead force is even for inspiring because of the fear knowing that these knights and horses will not stop at a field of pikes.

The Black Knights thundered across the field. At their tip, like the head of a lance, was the Blood Knights and Konrad Sibrand, who where ferocious warriors who had thirsted for combat. And now they would get their wish. The Blood Knights hit the Tileans like a sledgehammer against wet paper. The lances of the vampire knights tore through the skulls and chests of the mercenaries, impaling several of them like a shiskabob.

Behind them hundreds of Black Knights collided with the mercenaries with a sickening crunch. Dust was kicked up by skeletal steeps as lances splintered and heads flew as the undead knights methodically drew their blades. Konrad Sibrand rode at the middle of the killing, his sword slicing through bodies with eye-blurring speeds, dismembering Tileans and cutting down veteran soldiers like striplings. Blood decorated his snorting steed as it pulped the skulls of the fallen under it.

The charge of the undead broke the Tileans as they fled from these hellish knights and their skeleton-steeds. Men where trample underfoot or ridden down in their dozens as the vampire knights continued with their slaughter of the living. With that one charge, Hans's entire left flank was destroyed, leaving the Imperial lines dangerously opened. Dire wolves and fell bats raced through the opened flanks to get at the Imperials.

Hans looked grimly as the sight of the multiple remnants of the Tilean regiments that filed past, broken and bloodied, in the distance he could see the undead cavalry regrouping from their sudden strike. The vampires had taken their time in killing of the remaining mercenaries to raise as zombies afterwards. That simple act would cost them their chance of destroying the entire imperial army by a flank charge.

Hans turned to his trumpeter. ''Order a charge by Magnus'' he bellowed as the trumpeter raised his visor and let out a long series of notes that drifted across the imperial cavalry reserve.

Hans had fed his elite Hammer Bearers and state regulars into the fight to hold of Micrea's infantry charge. The vampire lord's attack was stalled due to the heroic actions of the Hammer Bearers. The general turned to a blue-suited messenger, part of his indispensable staff, which carried his orders across the battlefield. ''Karl, get to Stefan and the troops, tell him to take the Hammer Bearers and form a rearguard, we're withdrawing'' he instructed.

The cavalryman nodded and turned his horse and rode off grimly. Hans sighed, this was the hard part, withdrawing orderly from a fighting enemy like the undead, this was challenging under even the best of circumstances. He turned to his trusted Knights Panther. Behind them where assembled several hundred cavalry, mostly Knights Panther and their sister order, the Knights Jaguar, but there were also regiments of mercenary knights, like the Bogenhaften Dog Soldiers.

''Men, Knights Panther'', the general began, ''I may not be a part of your order, but you can be damn sure that I'll fight as hard with any of you as if you where my own brothers. The fate of Ostermark depends on the success of this charge.'' He let that hang for several seconds. ''If we fail then the undead slaughter this army and attack the capital. If we can withdraw in good order, then we can live to fight another day. If not, then we are all doomed to become mindless zombies. Will you let the Empire become that?'' he questioned.

There was a resounding ''NO'' across the ranks. The Knights Panther where sworn to the protection of the Empire and it's people. Hans knew this was the best way to appeal to them to fight harder.

He drew his runefang. Once, long ago his ancestors on the Drakwald Elector Counts had wielded this blade before they where overrun by beastmen and the homes of the providence destroyed. He was their descendant and he was to continue their legacy. He started his horse into a trot and pointed his runefang at the enemy before kicking off. The hundreds of knights followed him.

The spotted fur pelts of the Panthers flowed behind them in the winds as their steeds' hooves churned the gray earth beneath them. They rode past the skeletal grim trees and rundown farmhouses of this part of Ostermark. Nearer and nearer they galloped, soon breaking into a full tilt as they smashed into the ranks of milling undead knights. Raising his helm Konrad Sibrand saw the massed ranks of the Knights Panther and snarled, wheeling his steed around.

Spectral lances and blades clashed with the blessed silver weapons of the Knights Panther as the imperials tore through the unprepared Black Knights and it soon engaged with a brutal mêlée. The undead outnumbered the living, but they where cut off-guard and on the defensive, between the two sides the imperial knights in their gleaming blue-trimmed armor hacked down wights in black armor.

Hans sliced a wight apart like it was made of paper; the runefang making a mockery of the undead's armor. He beheaded another and cut another down, skeletal steed and all, with one stroke. All around him men where dying in the chaos. A massive dire wolf dove in and took a Panther off his steed while a Black Knight impaled a Panther on it's darkly glowing lance, the knights lifeblood spilling from the wound as he struggled in vain from Morr's dark grip.

Knights Panther under the command of Markus, the leader of Hans's lifeguard, cut their way to the Blood Knights. Markus, upon sighting the leader of the vampire warriors gave a war cry and charged him. Konrad cut him down in one blow, the sword passing through his chest and into his spine, sending gouts of gore over the vampire's arm. Casually, Konrad licked the blood off while the fight continued to rage to rage around him.

Like daemons the Blood Knights set upon the nearest of the Knights Panther and began butchering them. Hardened warriors who had fought in the wars against Chaos where cut down like children. Hans drove his steed through he press of the dead and the dying and came upon a Blood Knight. The vampire wore dark red mail and crimson plate armor. The knight gave him a grin full of fangs and launched a series of strikes at the General.

The blows forced the General's arm back. His limb felt like he was breaking from the sheer inhuman strength of the blows he had received. Gritting his teeth he struck back, slicing clean through the vampire's limb. The Blood Knight merely laughed and smashed his head against the general's head, cracking his helmet and sending Hans into a sudden state of shock by the unexpected strike.

He felt blood flowing down his head and he tried to recover his senses by tearing of his cracked and ruined helmet. By then, the Blood Knight drew his blade and launched a blistering series of attacks. The general defended as best he could. Then Hans felt a sharp pain in his side where the beast struck him. He felt his vision going black. ''S-sigmar, what do you….?'' he muttered before bringing his runefang back.

Crying the name of the warrior god of the Empire on his lips he beheaded the vampire in a single strike. The head of the beast flew into the air before being lost in the whirling blood storm around him. Nearby Konrad felt the death of one of his warriors and roared, redoubling his efforts to kill the imperial knights. But Hans no longer cared about that; he felt his vision going and his grip weakening.

He almost fell of his saddle. ''General!'' a distant voice shouted, he looked up to see a Knights Panther grab him as he heard a trumpet sound loudly in his ears. He then closed him eyes as blessed unconsciousness overtook him.

The Hammer Bearers where an unusual great swords regiment. They where recruited from the Temple of Sigmar in Carroburg and equipped with the best weapons and armor that the Temple could afford. They were masterful fighters, each soldier a hardened veteran of a dozen hard-fought battles. They where given to Hans for his valiant service to the Sigmarite church in heavily Ulrician Middenland.

They had received their orders calmly in the face of the undead assault and formed up into several tight blocks from the raging fight, near the imperial artillery park and reserve camp. One by one the state regiments pulled out from the fight, going under the umbrella of protection that was offered by the Hammer Bearers. The veteran greatswords cut down any zombie that followed.

Already Jan had led a half-dozen assaults on the impregnable cordon. However the Hammer Bearers refused to break no matter how many of them died. Their banner was still waving proudly then Jan was preparing for another assault. Jan's armor was pierced in a dozen placed where the great swords wounded his body. He had received wounds that would have killed a mortal man many times over, but he still kept going on.

''Come on! Come on!'' he screamed at the Hammer Bearers, his will raising several zombies nearby him in his unconscious rage. ''Just die! I'll kill you! I'll kill you all'' he screamed hatefully. Raising his sword at the Hammer Bearers he felt his arm grabbed by someone. Turing around to shake the interloper off, he saw that it was the bloody face of Mircea who had stopped him.

''Enough, Jan'', those words seemed to drain all the anger out of the vampire. ''We have had enough, let the zombies and the ghouls wear down the living, we will not break them at this state'', he calmly said. Then he spoke a word of power and necromantic power began to heal Jan and knit all the gaping wounds on the vampire. ''What about-'' Jan began but his sire cut him off. ''Get to your brother and regroup.'' The vampire lord stated.

Jan glowered but shook it off and stormed back into the forest of undead behind him. Silently Mircea commanded the skeletons and ghouls to form up into block to batter the Hammer Bearers again. Three hours later the Hammer Bearers retreated, losing a third of their number to the undead forces. As Mircea raised the bodies of his soldiers for the umpteenth time, the light cavalry of the Imperials arrived to check him.

Wheeling about on their horses, they fired handguns and pistols into the zombies, slaughtering dire wolves and skeletons. The vampire lord drew up his grave guard in serried ranks around him in case a lucky round struck him somehow.' But that was not accomplished by the pistoliers, reforming; they moved about and presented the hindquarters of their horses to the silent undead. They had given enough time for the valiant Hammer Bearers to flee and join up with the rest of the army.

The vampire lord brooded as he saw the rest of the Imperials flee. He had killed many living souls on this battlefield, but he had not reached the ten thousand required to finally resurrect his beloved Sophia. Mud was ground under the tracks of the great coach as it moved beside him. Mircea brushed of some of the blood on his armor and smeared it into the reflective black surface of the carriage, watching the blood disappear into the surface until not one speck remained.

He leaned back and spoke words of power, drawing the winds of necromancy into the Black Coach, all around him zombies where raised because of the excess power flowing into the coach. After several minutes Mircea stopped and withdrew, cloaking himself in his black wolf skin cloak, drained from the effort at the necromancy. He sighed, although he drew no breath and turned around to disappear into the ranks of the grave guard.

Reviews are welcome, both negative and positive.

Next chapter will deal with the aftermath of th ebattle and the invasion of Kisleiv. Is there any resources where I can find detailed inforation in Kisleiv?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Hunters and Implications

Hans Aldrech lowered himself gingerly into the chair. He had to move carefully so that the bandages on his chest would not snap and his wounds to reopen. That would not be very pleasant for the general. He looked over the worn, brown, grainy map with various silver pins stuck in it to indicate troop positions and locations of armies and castles, after all this map was old and did not have current information.

After the battle, he had woken up in a Shallayan field hospital. He had risen but had been shoved down, firmly but gently, but a Shallayan cleric and told to rest while his body healed from the previous fight's wounds. His loyal Knights Panther had carried him from the field. Looking over the casualty rolls, Hans had been disappointed to find so many dead. It was part of a general's life that there would be deaths, but it was hard all the same.

Most of the Tilean mercenaries where dead. But there were always more of them to hire and he did not have to pay them their money. However a third of the Hammer Bearers and the state troops had been killed along with significant causalities with the Knightly Orders. In all, it was a defeat. However, the Imperial army had been preserved to fight another day, and now they where being currently reinforced in Wolfenburg, the capital of Ostland, as fresh troops took up their position in Ostermark.

There was a rustling noise and Hans looked up at the tent flap, which had been pulled open, and Stefan the line officer entered. The solider had been cleaned up since the battle and wore a fresh uniform. ''My lord, I have news'', the soldier said. ''Don't be stiff with me Stefan, at ease'', the general instructed. As if by magic Stefan seemed to slouch from his former current position.

''Well for one the Vampire Lord's armies have disappeared sir''. Hans raised an eyebrow at this. ''How so?'' he questioned. Stefan walked over to the rough table with the tactical map on it. ''Well the Elector Hertwig had shadowed Von Carstein's army for several days, but Von Carstein didn't offer battle. During the night Von Carstein stole away with most of the undead host away from Hertwig'', Stefan reported.

Hans was perplexed. ''What the hell those that vampire want then? His moves make no logic, unless, unless he is being ordered about'' the general concluded and sat back gingerly. ''Are you talking about the rumors of Mannfred Von Carstein returning?'' Stefan said skeptically. ''Those aren't rumors, we've both seen enough to know that Von Carstein retreating from Volkmar was not illusion'' Hans replied hotly.

He winced and sat back against the old, creaking field chair. He groaned. ''Forgive me, but all this seems to aggravate my wounds'' Stefan made towards the tent flap. ''Shall I get the healers sir?'' Hans waved him away. ''No, I'll bee fine and we both know I've had a lot worse then this, remember that Minotar in Drakwald forest? Big nasty bastard that was…'' he closed his eyes, lost with past recollections of war.

''I remember it General, but I'm afraid I'll have to remind you that you have an appointment with a vampire hunter, someone who is knowledge about the beast Von Carstein'' said the captain in all seriousness. Hans nodded. Vampire hunters where half the time insane paranoid fanatics and the other half useless twits. He could deal with an insane paranoid fanatic any day over some foppish incompetent.

''Very well'' the general spoke. ''Send him in.''

Several minutes later a tall man entered and removed his hat. He had short brown hair, closely cropped to his head. He wore an eye patch on his left eye and a mass of scars decorating his cheeks and face. He looked like any other dangerous fanatic out there at first glance, but one look into that hard black eye showed a deep intelligence that most of those Sigmar-bothering fanatics had.

That same eye also showed a kind of haunted look, a look that Hans had only seen in the most mentally hurt soldiers after a particularly violent battle or campaign. It was almost disturbing. ''Greeting Lord Aldrech, I am Franz von Malksing'' he said, his voice was very quiet and haunted, almost like a silent whisper. It was that voice and his eye that rendered him unlike the other hunters.

''I assume that you are going to help us with the recent undead problem?'' Hans questioned the hunter in front of him. Malksing nodded and walked over to another old field chair and set himself down. ''General, I have encountered the beast Von Carstein before, he is indeed a threat to you, but not the greatest threat you face'' the vampire hunter spoke. ''I know that, there are other vampires out there and Archaon too-'' Hans was abruptly cut off.

''That's not what I meant general'', the hunter gestured. ''Mircea von Carstein has a totally different agenda, a few months ago one of his unholy get's was slain in Ostermark by one of my colleagues.'' ''Surely that would be a cause for rejoicing?'' Questioned the general. Malksing nodded. ''Normally yes, but not when it comes at the cost of the Empire. We are already fighting off greenskins and barbarians, while the vampires are unholy, they are an unnecessary distraction.'' Malksing explained.

''Of course there are bands of marauders from Vardek Crom's army that were trapped in Sylvania. Mannfred has been calling back his vampire vassals in order to slay the last of the chaos worshippers. Remember these vampires want cattle to fest upon, not mutants'' the vampire hunter lay back in the creaking field chair. ''Then what do you want me to do about it? I can't just go up to Von Carstein and ask him politely to go after the marauders'', the generally questioned dryly. ''You can let him go'' he said bluntly.

''What are you talking about? Retreat from the beast!'' raged Stefan, Hans raised a hand to silence him. ''We can avoid loss of lives this way, if we withdraw and give Von Carstein his breathing space, pardon the pun, then we can place two enemies to fight another'' retorted the vampire hunter. Stefan glowered. ''Then why attack Ostermark in the first place? If he wants to kill humans then why not fight in Sylvania in the first place'', the captain argued back. ''Because his get was killed there, he wanted revenge obviously'', replied the vampire hunter.

Then Malksing leaned in. ''And because he needs the deaths of the living to help regenerate the form of his lost get on a black coach he would start in the place where she died, I've studied the vampiric ways of resurrection and collecting souls where the vampire died is a good start.'' Malksing explained. ''But if he kills of the chaos worshippers then won't he be another step closer to resurrecting his get?'' asked the imperial general, a bit suspicious of Malksing's supposed idea.

''It is unfortunate but we can killed her later and the cost for the benefits greatly outweigh the drawbacks to the plan'' said Malksing, fingering his eyepatch, probably a nervous habit, Hans decided ''Well then I'll see what I can do'' Hans rose up from the chair. ''General you can't possibly be considering this ridiculous farce!'' shouted Stefan, clearly appalled at the very idea.

Hans raised a hand. ''Stefan I trust you but this is for the best of the Empire, hopefully no witch hunter will get the wrong idea, I fully intend to kill the vampires after this plan works out.''

Mircea von Carstein pushed the lid of his coffin carefully as he got out and put the lid back lovingly. He then turned around and walked out of his ebon black command tent. It was night now, the stars shining in the sky. He felt natural here at night. His perceptions increased and he felt more vigorous then before. He walked around the camp and looked around.

Luke and Jan were probably out hunting or scouting, he didn't care which one as long as they where back. They where in the border of Sylvania, already he could feel the necromantic power at the edge of his senses. He was in Sylvania, nearby he could see the land becoming like the twisted black tress and the deep al forbidding darkness so seeped with dark magic and the power of necromantic undeath.

He walked towards a nearby road he had assembled his army, and he shifted form to a massive black wolf. He then sped along the road in wolf form, the trees whipping past him in a blur if dark green and brown. In wolf form he felt his senses of smell and hearing multiply beyond what was normal for a vampire. He became a wolf not only in body but instinct also. He raced along with unnatural stealth.

He had always enjoyed being a wolf. Something about those clever, lethal predators fascinated him. He was a lone wolf. He had little patience for teams and he was not a pack animal. Moving along in the night was exhilarating for him, to be separate from the snobbish aristocracy and to become one with the beast and to truly understand the beauty that Vlad had always philosophized about.

He smelt several human figures up ahead. Moving carefully through the bushes, he went towards the smell. It ranked of unwashed human bodies and rusted steel, moving across the bushes he spotted his prey. There where four men, all rough-looking and scarred from a long life of banditry. They looked just like the type that would desert an army in order to pillage war zones of spoils. Mircea had known their kind when he was living. He had employed enough of them as mercenaries and cannon fodder.

They would be his meal, moving carefully along the buses he coiled his fur-covered muscles and leapt out to catch one of them by the throat. There was a scream and he could hear blades being drawn. One of the bandits was terrified and broke into a run. The other two rushed at him. He avoided their sword and bit through the chest of another. Spitting out bloody chunks of meat, he turned to the last.

The man made hasty waving sounds, trying to scare off what he saw as a dumb beast. The vampire lord repaid him by tearing off his arm. Blood jetted from the ragged stump, as the man fell back shrieking in horror and pain. Mircea shifted back to human form and licked the blood from the stump. Then he grabbed the half-conscious man by the scuff of his collar and sank his fangs deep into the man's neck and fed.

Then flinging the drained corpse aside he looked around. He changed into the black wolf once again. He sniffed, taking in that same dirty human scent and a newer smell of human urine. He overtook the slower human easily. His jaws extended and tore through the man's legs, hamstringing him. Then he sifted back to human from and ripped his throat out with his fangs.

He drank deeply of this one too. Although the blood tasted stale to his senses it was the only blood available. Tossing away the corpse in the under brush Mircea stalked back through the bushes and trees to the road. There he drained the dead corpses of their blood, trying to capture the warmth of the blood before it fast lost it potency. Then again he wouldn't be hunting trash like this if he weren't hungry.

Soon, he would be able to sample fine maidens again once he returned to Sylvania. Mannfred's pressures on him to return and kill the chaos trash that had dared invade their land was useful and annoying in so many ways. He could use the chaos trash to revive his Sophia, but at the same time he was denied his vengeance against those damn Ostermarkers. He could barely wait to extract more vengeance upon them.

He looked back up to stare at the full moon and then he changed into a swarm of bats. The black bats then fluttered off into the night, the flutter of their wings creating a silhouette against the moonlight.

Once again reviews, both negative and positive are welcomed. Advice and suggestions are appreciated too.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: After Dark…..

Winds howled among the spindly dark oaks of Sylvania. Dead leaves rustled in the gale as the steady stomp of feet below the tress vibrated thought all the cursed ground of Sylvania. Giant boots trampled the old and wrenched bushes underfoot and kicked aside dirt as twisted battle cries emerged from the chaos-warped throats of the hundreds of marauders and chaos worshipers that moved under the night sky.

They could not be considered an army in any sense of the word. When they formed up they did so in mobs, not as any kind of organized military formation that anyone would have recognized. This was of course perfect contrast to the silent and grim ranks of the undead, perfectly arranged in deep ranks that where cut into orderly squares alongside slavering ghouls and massive rotting dire wolves.

Fell bats flew overhead and on the flanks of the undead host where scores of Black Knights, some of then just recently reanimated to fight in this particular battle. At their head was Konrad Sibrand and his Blood Knights, lusting for battle. The forces of the dark gods where massive Kurgans, in great bearskin furs and leather decorations. They carried great axes and swords along with flails made of human skulls and shields of stitched human skin.

Among them where enormous men, each twice as wide and a head-and-half taller then the greatest of the marauders among them. They where the Chaos Warriors, the chosen of the gods and they were the greatest of the Northern tribes. Huge mutated hounds loped along in front of the chaos battle line, yelping their deformed heads at their undead counterparts, their own howls being answered by that of the undead.

Chaos warriors mounted on mutated steeds that more resembled a lion or some other great predatory beast roamed in great groups. They where itching for the great cavalry charge to get to grips with the enemy. There where rotted, diseased men among the ranks, clad in filthy robes of brown and green. Enormous muscular barbarians with blood-red tattoos and carrying great axes stared hatefully at slender, androgynous swordsmen in purple silks. Occasionally, blue-robed and raven-like sorcerers that muttered spells in dark tongues. Mircea Von Carstein eyed the horde darkly as they assembled. He disregarded them not for their gross perfidy and invasion of his homeland, although those where some very migrating factors.

No, he hated them because they were an unnecessary distraction from his vengeance and plot to resurrect his most favored get. He had planned to deal with this trash later, but even he could not refuse a direct order from Mannfred. Around him where his elite grave guard, tall and dark and clad in ancient suits of ornate plate armor. Nearby, where regiments of skeletons amidst zombies he had raised from the nearby earth, Sylvania always had an abundance of the dead.

On the flanks was the precious carriage of Sophia Around it was a force of great black wolves and undead wights commanded by Luke. They were assigned to guard Sophia's regenerating form and Mircea knew that Luke was a potent Necromancer. In the ranks amongst snarling and howling ghouls, stalked Jan von Carstein. Hungrily grasping his twin blades while he formed his own elite regiment of undead wights, Mircea could see that the vampire could barely contain his battle lust.

Jan was unlike Luke in so many ways. Luke was a debonair wolf, a true blade and someone Mircea considered a quality vampire that could shine well with the conventional aristocracy. Jan by contrast was a butcher. Even if Luke was embarrassed by his brother's crass nature and boorish altitude, he did not abandon him for they where brothers both in death and in life.

Near the frenzied vampire was a coven of necromancers, among them where Micrea's personal sorceress Katja, along with his other vassals and those that Mannfred had sent to reinforce him. They where currently busying themselves with taking over that section of the line, allowing Mircea to condense his magic over a tighter area. Even now he could see the strands of necromancy stretching over the battlefields, the skeletons coming out of their hidden crypts in the hillside, the bats swarming out of the caves and the wolves streaking out the forests, compelled by the will of the vampires.

Vast this northern horde may be, but they where facing the vast army of the dead in a land which had seen much death and bloodshed in its' time. Even the Kurgans's own recent murdered victims where rising as zombies. Extending his will through the Slyvanian army, Mircea ordered units of zombies and dire wolves to advance across the dead landscape, amongst ramshackle farm houses and spindly pale trees.

With that Mircea began the first part of the battle.

His name was Kroemdar, and he was a champion, almost eight feet tall and covered with notched red and black armor with an ornate silver eight-pointed star of chaos undivided carved into it. On his back he wore a massive pelt of fur, a daemon, his warriors whispered, slain in combat and worn as a pelt to show his prowess as a warrior. Whether it was true or not, he was a fearsome warrior.

He was zar, a word meaning warlord in the tongue of the northern barbarians. No one knew exactly how old Kroemdar was. He himself had forgotten his age when he left his tribe to become one of the chosen of the gods. ''They smell like the shit of dogs'' he snarled to one of his warriors, a massive bull-headed man. Literally he had a massive bovine head and a crown of blue thorn-like horns draping his skull.

''At least they are not as bad as the followers of Nurgleth!'' another warrior joked. ''Would you rather they smell like southerners? Or those weakling Imperials'' a laugh sounded through the ranks. Zar Kroemdar knew how to inspire his men for the gods, they had came down here as part of Archaon's immense horde that butchered and ravenged they're way though Ostermark and Ostland.

During which after the battle at Middenheim and the retreat to Brass Keep Kroemdar had broke off to raid on his own. He had already forged a coalition of other tribes under his command. Being a follower of Chaos Undivided made it easier for him to be accepted by the others. Right now, members of his original tribe of Kurgans, whether they worshiped any of the four gods solely or if they worshiped Chaos Undivided as a pantheon. They where all granted command in his new army regardless, as proof of their devotion.

And now they faced the living dead. Kroemdar had heard of them before, somewhere in his past distant memory when he was just a knee-high boy sitting in his fathers lap he had heard stories about the ferocious blood drinkers. He chuckled; Blood was for Khorne, not for drinking. These dead beasts where just as vulnerable to the blessings of the gods as they where to sunlight or stake. ''Blood for the Blood God indeed'' he muttered.

Nearby Ulii, the standard bearer who carried a massive banner mounted in a pike. The banner was emblazoned with an image of a twisted black axe on a yellow field and the skulls of the Zar's enemies where mounted on it. He knew that the vampires where notoriously hard to kill by conventional means, but cutting off the head of a blood drinker would slay it the same as any other mortal, that head would decorate his trophy-banner.

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The great-mutated hounds howled their warped battle cries as they collided with the packs of massive undead wolves, balefires burning in their eyes. Fang and claw tore into each other with equal ferocity. Both armies advanced with little missile fire to be exchanged, the northerners distaining such weapons and the bulk of the undead too simple and basic to use such complex weapons.

Mircea gave a silent command to his ranks of skeletons that leveled spears and locked shields with inhuman efficiency and began to advance upon the howling marauders who broke into a run at the sight of the undead. The northmen smashed into the ranks of the undead like a sledgehammer through rotten fruit. The front rank of skeletons was simply bashed aside by massive chaos warriors with evilly glowing weapons.

All around axes tore off the skulls of zombies who clawed and grasped at the flesh of the marauders as massive barbarians hacked through way to Mircea's banner, howling praise to the four gods as they did so. However after the initial emphasis of the charge faded Mircea pooled his sorcerous talent to re-raising his fallen warriors, pushing through the magical defenses to resurrect zombies and skeletons.

These warriors pressed on, only to be cut again and resurrected and cut down again as the circle repeated itself. At first the dead seemed to be outmatched, but with each round of fighting the dead claimed the lives of northmen who where promptly raised again. In the midst of the carnage was Jan von Carstein, covered in gore and laughing like a manic as his twin blades claimed the lives of a barbarian northerner with each deadly swing of steel.

His bloodthirst brought him deep into the barbarian ranks, the unconscious will of the vampire driving on his followers to fight with maniacal frenzy surprising even to the battle-hardened followers of chaos. Immense red-armored men bellowed praise to Khorne as they carried massive hand axes, butchering their way to Jan's position with a grim icy bloodlust, alongside them marched Kroemdar and his huge black-armored chosen with that cursed banner.

A group of towering, slender, silk robed warriors in purple-black and pink armor advanced on Sophia's black coach with frightening speed and grace. Seeing their advance Luke howled out into the ranks of the undead army, summoning flocks of fell bats and packs of dire wolves. Imposing his will over these beasts he sent them hurling at the Slaanesh worshipers. They howled in pleasure even as they were torn apart in a flurry of bat wings and ripped to shreds by the fangs and claws of the wolves.

Luke saw one man laughing even as he had an arm torn off. Another was giggling even though an enormous fell bat had bitten off his face. They ignored their wounds and fought on jovially towards the black coach. Besides them emerged men in rotting armor and filthy robes, bearing rusty scythes and dirty flails. Luke turned his nose up in disgust at the rotting, stinking followers of Nurgle as the Chaos forces advanced.

Grimly Luke formed up his ranks of skeletons and ghouls and met the Chaos forces in a counter charge, swords shattered and spears splintered as the two forces collided in a bloody desperate mêlée. Luke hung back and smiled as he called upon his necromantic prowess. He frowned as his attempt to raise zombies where dispelled by a black-robed mage with lizard's feet and a third eye.

The sorcerer was doing his best to prevent the spells of Mircea and his coven of necromancers, beside him where ashes and lumps of mutated meat that had once been sorcerers who had made a mistake in casting. Other silk-robed magicians and leprous shamans gave up casting their spells on the undead. The temptations of Slaanesh would do little to affect something that is a mindless zombie and disease did not affect those who where already dead.

Luke turned to the ranks behind him and snapped his fingers. With a inhuman roar a massive shape lurched out of the undead line at incredible speeds, smashing aside capering ghouls who desperately tired to get out of it's way. It was a massive beast; over nine feet tall and more thickly muscled than an ogre. It resembled a giant demonic bat crossed with a wolf and a man with great wings and hateful red eyes.

The Vargulf had once been a minor vampire rival of Mircea, Luke had forgotten his name, but the vampire had his castle destroyed by witch hunters and was forced to live in the forests, there he devolved into a mindless beast. Many centuries later Mircea discovered it and bound the beast to him with necromantic magic, The Vargulf made an excellent shock warrior, so the vampire lord had made efforts to acquire others of it's kind.

Leaping bestially the great bat-like beast smashed through the ranks of marauders and mutants and headed straight towards the black-robed sorcerer and his bodyguard of chosen barbarians. The sorcerer shouted urgently at his bodyguard to form up beside him, even now attempting to cast a spell to annihilate the beast with bolts of magical energy. Smiling Luke brought of a scroll and read from it even as the Vargulf came into contact with the sorcerer.

Luke watched the dispel scroll crumble into dust as he prevented the spell that would have saved the life of the enemy sorcerer. He watched in glee as the massive bat monster tore apart the coven of enemy sorcerers like dolls. Meanwhile the sleek-limbed worshipers of the pleasure god and the diseased men of Nurgle broke through the skeletons, hacking down bones and ghoul flesh with equal abandon and savagery.

Almost negligently Luke allowed the necromantic strings holding the undead to collapse, watching with disinterest of the ghouls where slaughtered and skeletons collapsed into piles of bones. The Chaos forces moved forward, buoyed by the thrill of victory and the lust for battle. Luke gave a small evil smile, exposing his fangs as he raised an arm and them dropped it down.

Behind him galloped the massed ranks of the Black Knights and the Blood Knights under Konrad Sibrand. The Blood Knight had to barely restrain himself from joining in the slaughter until the time was right, now he had his chance. The Kurgans had penetrated to deep behind the undead lines, now a large chunk of the chaos worshippers where exposed out and in the open as they milled about and desperately tired to reform their ranks.

Luke smiled as he saw corrupted blood fly into the air when the charge of the undead knights smashing into the ranks of northerners and began to butcher them as they did to the skeletons just earlier. Almost carelessly he began to raise more and more zombies from the corpses to join in on the attack, to pull down fleeing Kurgans with cold gray fingers and down to their deaths.

By now Kroemdar's Kurgans had finally smashed their way through the ranks of undead in front of them, unaware that their positions were rapidly behind enveloped by the forces of Konrad Sibrand and Luke. Kark Marrowgrinder, champion of Khrone raised his twin axes and led a charge into the ranks of Mircea's own grave guard, Kroemdar rallying his warriors around him in the example of the Khornate.

Bones where snapped underfoot as the barbaric howls of the marauders sounded through the landscape and great axes and broadswords hewn down zombies by the dozen, only for the undead to be reanimated by the magicks of the necromancers. Mircea, looking over the battlefield drew his broadsword and gave a silent command to his grave guard as he formed his reserve up into orderly blocks and he began to chant words that would cast spells of speed and vigor to the undead ranks.

Silently, but with glowing magical balefires in their eyes the ranks of armored skeletons and grave guard charged the Kurgans. The battle-hardened barbarians met the undead elite in a bloody charge as bestial howls echoed around the battlefield. Kark Marrowgrinder reached a tall skeletal necromancer and clove him in half, he was on another necromancer in the blink of an eye and beheaded him casually, the decapitated form did not bleed as it slowly collapsed into dust.

He then split a ghoul from skull to crotch before flinging aside his axes and diving into the sea of undead in a mindless rage of bloodletting. Across the battlefield his counterpart, Jan, was doing the same. Mircea dispatched the first few Kurgans with an icy precision, his swings went through the leather armor and mail hauberks of the northerners like paper as the enchanted blade howled keenly thought the air as it began to absorb streamers of blood.

Almost negligently he beheaded a shrieking northman clad in red armor, as the barbarian's massive body keeled over dead, blood spurting in the air. Mircea looked about for the leader of the Kurgans. He spotted an enormous banner, with heads impaled on spikes, that banner was ornate enough to be a chieftains. Muttering another spell of magical vigor he drove his grave guard forward with his supernatural will, glowing spectral blades cutting down Kurgans as they went.

He spotted the barbarian's leader, a towering figure in black armor wielding an enormous black axe, warped by chaos and studded with spikes and evil shimmering runes. He raised his blade in salute as the chaos lord spotted him. The Chaos worshipper roared with approval and broke free to charge the vampire, Mircea mentally commanded his Grave Guard to form up into a ring that would prevent the Kurgans from interfering with the fight.

The chieftain was taller than the vampire lord and bulkier, but that did not mean anything since the vampire lord had great strength and speed, which counteracted any advantages of reach that the chaos lord might have possessed. The twisted black axe and the screaming sword met in a flurry of magical sparks as the two enchanted weapons clashed again and again. Both combatants trying to overpower the other.

Whatever weapon the Kurgan warrior wielded, it was a match for the blade that Mircea held, the blade itself was Vlad's own sword, painstakingly recovered from the priests of Altdorf after the first vampire war. The chaos lord scored first blood as his axe bit into the right armguard of the vampire lord, cleaving halfway to the bone, Mircea blocked a strike one-handed with his shrieking sword and used some of the stored blood in the blade to heal his injured arm in seconds, the wound knitting beneath the magical plate.

The northman snarled and slashed the vampire across the chest from shoulder to hip, the strike bouncing of the enchanted armor before reversing the spiked black axe into a strike at the vampire's head. With inhuman reflexes Mircea avoided the eye-blurring speeds of the blade, which would have taken his head off otherwise. He used the distraction to impale the barbarian through his gut, the sword passing easily through the armor plate. The barbarian grunted and black ichors seeped through the stomach armor of the barbarian's plate.

The chaos worshiper grunted and then brought his axe down into the shoulder of the vampire lord, driving it down through the side of his chest as Mircea's arm came out to grab the blade before it traveled further into his body and catch his heart. He leapt back, dragging himself bloodily free from the grievous wounds that the axe had inflicted; he used up the remainder of blood collecting in his magical blade, muttering necromantic spells under his breath, desperately trying to heal his wounds.

He could be slain by precious few things these days but the magically enchanted chaos axe probably could kill him, however he was safe if he could heal himself with his blood sword and magicks. However the Chaos lord did not plan to give him that chance, with a roar Kroemdar charged Mircea, ignoring his stomach wound he brought his sword around to block the strike, the sheer momentum driving the vampire lord several inches back as he dug his armored boots into the ground.

He shook the blade off and swiped his sword at Kroemdar's head, but the Chaos lord shifted so the blade skipped of the metal of his helm. Then the chaos lord launched a flurry of strikes at Mircea's defenses. The vampire blocked every one as he brought his blade down, trying to cleave into the chaos lord, however his strike missed and merely cut through the left knee of Kroemdar who lurched back, stumbling on the cut tendons of his knee.

Mircea saw his chance and launched forward, his magical blade cutting into the Chaos Lord's right arm, cleaving it at the elbow, causing more black ichor to spurt from the stump. With unnatural reflexes the Chaos lord has switched his axe to his other hand right before the strike struck and he slammed the axe deep into the side of Mircea, the vampire lord sped back, the chaos axe imbedded deep into his side, blood bubbling from his pale lips.

The Chaos lord laughed and Mircea did something he had never done before; he reached back and flung his sword at the barbarian's helm with all his strength. The sword speared through the brain of the barbarian as Kroemdar collapsed on the ground. With effort the vampire lord wrenched the axe from his side and grabbed the sword before yanking it from the skull of the barbarian. He then lopped of the head off the nearest Kurgan, collecting his blood, allowing it to flow into his wounds and heal himself.

Regaining his strength he swing the blood sword through several more of the Chaos Lord's bodyguard, commanding his grave guard to form up behind him, to attack and butcher the Kurgans. Coming upon the banner bearer of the Chaos Lord he blocked the sword strike of the bull-headed warrior before ramming his hand through the chest of the warrior and into the heart. He looked at the beating black heart before tossing it away and charging into the slaughter once more, the banner toppling behind him to be trampled by the boots of the grave guard.

Watching the slighter below where two horsemen. Both where clad in blue armor that was trimmed with silver. Both where chaos warriors, huge and on snorting black steeds with wolves fangs. One had a jagged mark carved over the right eye slit of his helm while the other eye glowed red. The other had some sort of armored covering over his left eye while the other eyepiece glowed with a witch fire. The riders looked upon the slaughter below, the countless thousands butchering each other.

The envelopment of the northerners was complete, Konrad Sibrand led the relentless hordes of the dead into the rear, the attack spearheaded by the Blood Knights and trailed by undead knights and wolves. Meanwhile Mircea led the blocks of skeleton infantry and freshly raised zombies at the Kurgans, butchering the northmen at the head of his own grave guard as the noose closed around the invaders.

To their credit the Kurgans continued fighting even after the death of their leader, dying to the last even as hordes of skeletons and zombies drowned them under a tide of the dead flesh. But the two did not care about that except to admire the tough northern spirit. ''Was allowing Kroemdar command of that troops really wise sir?'' the left-eyed one, the one he who seemed the younger of the two said.

The older one, the right-eyed one snorted. ''Don't worry about it, the worshipers of Tchar who joined Kroemdar where idiots for doing so, and the Weaver of Fates does not suffer idiots lightly, and the others died because they where idiots too, relax and cast aside your worries Maer'' he said his voiced light and cheery. The other chaos rider nodded. ''Yes sir, of course.'' He said before wheeling his horse around and riding off. The other rider remaining for a few moments to stare at the carnage.

''Just as planned'' he muttered before setting off after his subordinate.


End file.
